


All casual

by Nutella_enthusiast



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutella_enthusiast/pseuds/Nutella_enthusiast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He reaches up and scratches his face because if he has to keep his arm pressed to Ransom’s like this for any longer he might do something stupid like wrap it around him, and then he might do something stupider like lean over and kiss him, and he’s not ready to deal with the fallout from that right now.</p><p>He can feel Ransom’s gaze on him, and he self consciously pushes his too long bangs out of his eyes and wonders if Ransom can see his internal struggle on his face. He wouldn’t be surprised; he’s trying pretty hard to resist the urge to just start screaming and not stop for a very long time, and that seems like the kind of thing that would be easy to notice.</p><p>a companion to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5372864">without having to confess</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	All casual

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ObscureReference](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureReference/gifts).
  * Inspired by [without having to confess](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372864) by [ObscureReference](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureReference/pseuds/ObscureReference). 



> alternate title: ransom and holster are both massive nerds who dont know how to talk about their feelings like real adults
> 
> i read "without having to confess" by ObscureReference and got really emotional and immediately wanted to write it from Holster's perspective so
> 
> here it is

Ransom and Holster’s thighs and upper arms have been pressed together for almost 45 minutes, and Holster’s finding it harder and harder to focus on the laptop in front of them. They’re watching 30 Rock, and it’s one of Holster’s favorite episodes, and yet it’s all he can do to keep his eyes on the screen and not on Ransom beside him like he wants. He reaches up and scratches his face because if he has to keep his arm pressed to Ransom’s like this for any longer he might do something stupid like wrap it around him, and then he might do something stupider like lean over and kiss him, and he’s not ready to deal with the fallout from that right now.

 

He can feel Ransom’s gaze on him, and he self consciously pushes his too long bangs out of his eyes and wonders if Ransom can see his internal struggle on his face. He wouldn’t be surprised; he’s trying pretty hard to resist the urge to just start screaming and not stop for a very long time, and that seems like the kind of thing that would be easy to notice.

 

"Can I fuck you?"

 

Holster is convinced for a good ten seconds that he’s dreaming. He’s had dreams that started in a very similar way, minus Tracy Jordan talking about the neighborhood where he grew up in the background, because he loves 30 Rock, but it hasn’t made its way into his sex dreams yet.

 

Except for that one about Liz Lemon, but come on.  _ Tina Fey. _

 

"Why?" he asks, because he thinks “ _ yes, please, I’ve literally been in love with you since freshman year, have you just now noticed?”  _ might not go over so well.

 

Ransom swallows, stares at him for a moment, and shrugs.

 

Holster pauses for a moment like he’s actually taking time to consider it, when he knows that there’s no way he could ever turn Ransom down right now. Because maybe Ransom’s just bored, or horny, or curious, but if this is the only chance Holster ever gets there’s no way in hell he’s not taking it. Eventually, he shrugs too.

 

“Okay,” he says.  _ That’s casual, right? _

 

“Wait, really?” Ransom looks like he wasn’t actually expecting Holster to say yes, and Holster wonders briefly if this is some sort of bizarre, not fully thought out game of gay chicken. He decides quickly that he doesn’t care. Whether he pulls away first or not though, he doesn’t see any situation where he could actually win in any real sense of the word, and yet for once, he doesn’t have a problem with that. He takes off his glasses and sets them just under the edge of the bed where they can’t get stepped on and shrugs again.  _ Casual. All casual. _

 

"Sure."

 

Holster wonders briefly  if he should say something else, but then Ransom is kissing him and there are actual butterflies in his stomach - which is not something he thought ever actually happened to people before this exact moment - but he doesn’t want to focus on butterflies, he wants to focus on Ransom’s mouth, because holy shit, odes could be written, probably, so he cups his face with one hand and kisses him back. He tries to pour in every feeling and emotion and moment of sexual frustration that Ransom has made him feel in the last three years into it, but he keeps getting distracted by the taste of Ransom’s tongue.

 

There was a time, a few months ago, when Holster had brought a girl back to the room. She was a tall, beautiful chem major with short, dark, curly hair and high cheekbones and big brown eyes, and Holster had been trying to get with her for weeks. He knew, even as he was inviting her back to the Haus, that it wasn’t a good idea, that Ransom was there, and probably asleep, and would not appreciate being either kicked out of the room or woken up. Maybe though, Holster had thought, because he’d had enough to drink that he wasn’t as terrified as usual to admit things like that to himself, he wanted Ransom to hear, to know exactly what was going on, to feel how Holster had felt when he’d seen Ransom making out with that girl from his marketing class at the last Haus party. Maybe.

 

He’d shushed her, of course, and tried to keep quiet himself, because he wasn’t enough of an ass to actually  _ try _ to wake Ransom, but if he’d spent just as much time listening to see if Ransom made any noise as he did focusing on the girl underneath him, no one had to know.

 

He’d thought he’d heard a quiet gasp from above him at one point, and because he was (is) a lovesick mess, that was what had pushed him over the edge. He’d come picturing his best friend’s face instead of the girl he was having sex with, and he’d come harder than he had in months, and in the morning, when he apologized, Ransom told him that he hadn’t even woken up. That almost made it worse.

 

Ransom is still kissing him, fierce and greedy like he needs it as much as Holster does, and it’s too much, it’s all too much, and Holster should push him away, tell him he can’t, tell him he wins this bizarre game, but he can’t seem to make himself do it, so he grabs Ransom’s hips instead and pulls him closer as Ransom runs his hands up and down his arms. Then Ransom is in his lap and Holster’s hands are on his ass and he forces himself to stop worrying about what’s going to happen once this is over and focus on what’s happening right now.

 

Because right now Ransom’s lips are on his jaw, his throat, just a hint of stubble rubbing at the soft skin there, and Holster lets out a breath that’s almost a moan, tugging Ransom closer until they’re grinding together, both of them already hard. Holster can’t seem to figure out where to put his hands. He moves them to the small of Ransom’s back, and then his thighs, and then he’s grabbing Ransom’s ass which - once again,  _ odes  _ \- and all he really wants is to pick him up and carry him to bed. There’s no way Holster could actually realistically lift him without hitting both their heads on the top bunk and also maybe straining a muscle in his back, so he tugs at the back of Ransom’s pants, and Ransom seems to get the message, because they both stumble to their feet, tugging off clothes as they go. Holster’s down to just his boxers and on the bed as quickly as he can, and he wonders for a moment if he should have worn nicer underwear today before he looks up at Ransom, who’s staring at him like he’d like to devour him, and he decides that his old faded blue boxers are okay.

 

Ransom is shirtless now too, and his bare chest against Holster’s when he gets down on top of him and kisses him again feels like everything he’s ever wanted. As quickly as Ransom was on top of him though, he’s pulling away, taking in his appearance again, staring at Holster’s crotch, where his cock is poking out of the slit of his boxers.

 

Holster flushes, and he’s just about to adjust himself when Ransom groans quietly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Holster flushes deeper, can feel it travelling down his chest, and he reaches down, lifting his hips off the bed so he can pull off his boxers completely, and when he looks up, Ransom is naked too.

 

Ransom is putting on a condom before Holster can tell him not to bother. They both get checked regularly, and Holster really wants to know what if feels like to have Ransom inside him, nothing separating them, just skin against skin. He tries to picture Ransom’s reaction:  _ nevermind, I think this was a mistake  _ or  _ what the hell _ or  _ bro, that’s gay, even for us _ , and maybe it’s good that he didn’t get a chance to say anything.

 

Holster hasn’t done this with a guy before, but he had a very adventurous high school girlfriend, so he knows what to expect when Ransom presses his first finger into him. The two of them have shared most of the details of their sexual pasts at some point or another, but Holster hadn’t even thought of a way to bring that up. He wasn’t really sure how to throw “yeah, my high school girlfriend used to finger me sometimes and I was super into it,” into casual conversation.

 

Ransom, evidently, has some experience he hadn’t told Holster about too though, if his complete lack of hesitation is anything to go by. Holster’s gaze darts up to his face, and he pulls his lower lip between his teeth, chewing at it as he watches the look of concentration there. He’s about to ask if Ransom has done this before ( _ when _ has he done it before, and with who, and  _ oh god, _ has Ransom done this to  _ himself _ ?), when Ransom’s fingers hit a spot inside him that makes him throw his head back with a low moan and pushes all other thoughts out of his mind.

 

Holster doesn’t know how long they stay like that, Ransom stretching him open slowly, carefully, as Holster gasps and squirms under him, his breath catching every time Ransom brushes his prostate. He’s embarrassingly close to coming already and Ransom hasn’t even gotten his dick inside him yet.

 

“Come on, yeah,” he breathes out, bucking his hips up, and then Ransom’s pulling out his fingers and lining up his cock and Holster can’t stop staring. There’s a single bead of sweat sliding down Ransom’s temple, and Holster barely resists the urge to reach up and brush it away, or blurt out something embarrassing like  _ you’re beautiful _ or  _ I love you. _ Then Ransom is pushing forward and Holster is gasping, grabbing at the sheets beside him, unable to look away from where Ransom is  _ actually inside him, oh my god. _

 

Ransom is moving slowly, so slowly, and Holster knows, logically, that this is what he should be doing, giving him time to adjust, because god knows it’s been a long time since he’s done this, but all he can think is that he wants all of Ransom inside him, and he wants it right now. He keeps his eyes on Ransom’s cock, where he’s disappearing into him a fraction of an inch at a time, and wow, okay, that definitely hurts a little more than he should be into, but he’s definitely into it anyways. He can feel Ransom’s gaze on him as he bottoms out, and he’s about to look up, ask something, but then Ransom’s hand is on his cock and he loses all ability to string a sentence together at all. He lets out another breathy moan.

 

Ransom gets a rhythm going with his hand, but he’s barely moving his hips, and it’s all Holster can do to stop himself from thrusting up against him.

 

“More,” he gasps desperately, and then Ransom is giving him more, and Holster is holding on and trying to keep breathing because he doesn’t know what else to do. He groans as Ransom speeds up, finding a rhythm and burying his face in the crook of Holster’s neck. Holster’s kind of grateful for that, because as much as he wants to keep looking at Ransom, he doesn’t know if keeping eye contact when he comes would be too much for... whatever it is that they’re doing.

 

Ransom twists his wrist at just the right angle, and his breath is hot on Holster’s throat, and Holster just manages to choke out, “fucking--  _ shit--” _ before he comes, his eyes shut tight, gripping onto Ransom’s hip with one hand and the sheets beside him with the other.

 

“ _ Holtzy, _ ” moans Ransom, his voice rough, and it’s quite possibly the hottest thing Holster has ever heard. He holds Ransom close as he trembles above him. They stay like that for what feels like forever, breathing in sync, and Holster tries to hold onto every moment of it, remember the burn in his thighs, how Ransom’s hands feel against his skin, the catch in Ransom’s breath when he first pushed inside him.

 

Then Ransom is rolling off of him and onto the mattress beside him, and their thighs and upper arms are pressed together again, and it hits Holster all at once what they’d just done. He wonders briefly if Ransom regrets it, if he’ll ever want to do it again, what it means to him ( _ probably, no, a hell of a lot less than it meant to Holster) _ , and he forces himself to his feet before Ransom can voice any of that. He wipes down his stomach with a tissue, not making eye contact, and pulls his boxers back on, a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

"Hey, I'm gonna grab some leftover pizza from the fridge,” he says. He doesn’t know how he manages to keep his voice from breaking, but he does it. “Want some?"  _ Casual. Casual. Casual. _

 

Ransom is staring at him. Why is Ransom staring at him? "Sure,” he says. “I'll be down in a second."

 

Holster raises one eyebrow, forces himself to smile. "You're that winded from one round?"

 

"Some of us have class."

 

Holster shrugs and turns to the door, and he actually manages to keep his legs steady until he’s out of the attic and on the stairs down to the kitchen, but then his knees are giving away under him and he’s collapsing onto the stairs, his head buried in his hands, his breathing shaky. He knows that someone else could get home at any moment, that being found sitting in the middle of the stairs crying and wearing nothing but his boxers would be a little hard to explain, and yet when hot tears start pricking at his eyes, he doesn’t bother trying to hold them back.

 

There’s a very good chance, he thinks, that he may have just ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He’s never had a friend like Ransom before, and he doesn’t think he ever will again, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if (when) Ransom tells him that he was just bored, or horny, or curious, and this was the only chance Holster ever got.

 

No, Holster doesn't think this will happen again. He’s not sure how he’s going to make it through that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr at my [main blog](http://mahealaheys.tumblr.com) or [omgcp blog](http://holtzyrans.tumblr.com)


End file.
